


il requiem di francesco pazzi

by starblessed



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Other, Regret, how much introspection can i force into the one (1) second before francesco is executed? A Lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 05:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17760992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: In the second of suspended agony between the windowsill dropping out beneath him and the devastating snap of rope around his neck, Francesco Pazzi sees ghosts.





	il requiem di francesco pazzi

In the split second of suspended agony between the windowsill dropping out beneath him and the devastating _snap_ of rope around his neck, Francesco Pazzi sees ghosts.

They hold all the tangibility of a mirage at twilight on the hottest day of summer — shadows dancing before his eyes, there with a flicker and gone the next. It is his mother, in her long silk gowns... his father, stern and proud... children, small brothers chasing each other down a deserted hallway... a small face reflected in the waters of a well. Looming behind them all are blue eyes, piercing, condemning him from sanctuary of lofty heights. The sky churns with an oncoming storm.

Francesco stares, and the ghosts stare back at him.

For a moment, he is sure the dancing figure must be Novella, hair flying in a shapeless cloud behind her. Then her outstretched arm sharpens, height gaining upon a lithe frame, and it is Giuliano de Medici, blood-drenched blade extended his way. He does not see Guglielmo, but hears his wife gasp, his baby wail. The clouds overhead roil. All the breath leaves his body in a single rush.

When he dies, there will be nothing left — only memories of people who will never think kindly of him after what he has done. His brother will suffer for a role unplayed in Francesco’s own crimes; his uncle will face the same noose, if he is not speared through by Lorenzo’s own blade. Not even Jacopo can silvertongue his way from Death’s clutches.

The realization gives Francesco no grief... just a hollow sort of realization.

The line of Pazzi must end here, in bloodshed and betrayal. His death will mean little to the ones who go on living. If he is remembered, it will be for his crimes; any fond echo will be met with shame and silence.

The ground rushes forward, and he almost feels it — feels that jolt, that gasp, the burst of pain which will signify the end. (Unless he writhes upon the ropes like a fish trapped on land, choking, the last heartbeats strangled from his body.) This is it, he realizes, with the first pan of clarity he has had since the moment his knife plunged into Giuliano’s body. This is the end. This is the moment he will die.

And this is the path he chose, isn’t it? The righteous path. The vengeful path.

If he is dying as himself, dying in _disgrace,_ would it be better to die as no one at all?

The Medici will control the narrative, and history will be written in their wake. His story will be penned by Lorenzo de Medici’s hand... and Lorenzo will not be merciful. Those cold blue eyes glare at him from the sky. Francesco remembers them in a face decades younger, open and trusting. He remembers them warm, at the Christening of his first son. He remembers them wide with terror (and was that disbelief?), staring down the point of Francesco’s own sword.

No, Lorenzo will not show him mercy. Why should he?

Vile bitterness still roils in the pit of his stomach, like acid surging up a tightening throat. He lived in hatred. Why not die in it?

Was it not Lorenzo who manipulated him, who forced Francesco and everyone around him to dance like puppets to a tune of his own composition? Was Lorenzo not the orchestrator of his greatest happiness? Did Lorenzo not offer him the greatest opportunity of his life?

And wasn’t it Lorenzo, then, who snatched it all away?

_Wasn’t it?_

The death knell of Florence, he always imagined, would not ring with the roar of an army. It would be struck by Medici hands — his city destroyed by the hubris of his enemies. And pride, pride, there is the downfall of kings, the destroyer of legacies, the fatal weakness in apparently-faultless armor. Damned, cursed pride, which drives men to throw their lives away for the sake of what they believe in.

But how does one know what they believe until they’re dangling at the end of a rope?

The thought comes as a surprise; Francesco could laugh. He raises his eyes one last time, to see the ghosts blown like ash out of the placid, open sky…

then, the _snap_.

 

And so dies pride.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so I regret nothing, and also everything, but more than anything else i regret francesco pazzi's terrible freaking decisions! like, dude! you could have had it good! you had to go and mess it up? (he literally says "my uncle is a master manipulator" then two scenes later lets his uncle work his jedi mind tricks ON HIM. c'mon, francesco.)
> 
> anyways, i definitely want to write more for this series, because there ought to be more english fic in the fandom --- so if anyone wants to send me Medici S2 prompts, my tumblr is [roseluminated](http://roseluminated.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
